Footfalls
by AmputeeTrainee
Summary: Ivan haunts his lonely house while ghosts of the past haunt him in return. Although, he can't say their company isn't wanted. Warning: fictional character interacting with factual people.


"_You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest that it leaves your arms too full to embrace the present."_

**---**

Thud. Thud. Thud.

His footsteps are heavy. Feet blindly following the path he's long since worn into the threadbare carpet. Ivan walks the empty halls of the all too desolate house everyday. The other smaller nations he keeps are a rare find. They hide and scuttle out of reach, quivering when cornered; little mice with fear lit eyes.

It is an empty house; mice are ill companions. It is a cold house; there is no feasible way to warm the drafty place. It is a lonely house; hardly anyone is truly his and he belongs to no one. So, Ivan walks and haunts the many passages.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He is a specter in his own house.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Winter is trying to seep its way inside.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The loneliness gnaws away at him.

Thud…tap-tap. Thud…tap-tap. Thud…tap-tap.

Then suddenly the rhythm is off. No longer his own. More steps join in, furious and swift. It is the sound of running feet. Ivan can hear them, racing toward him from behind. Louder and louder not because they are heavy, they are coming closer. Not retreating, not fleeing, not like all the others he keeps under his roof.

Thud. Tap-tap! Thud. Tap-tap! Thud. Tap-tap!

He stops. The sound chasing him does not. The footfalls are quick; their strides are short. The lingering echo is faint; they are light in weight. Ivan knows this sound. Long ago, this very noise followed after him. So long ago. Still so familiar.

"Ivan!" The voice is high and clear.

"Ivan!" A second one calls, mimicking the first.

Though distinctly unique, both cries are colored with fear. They twitter back and forth, not unlike birds, as they call his name in a frightened chorus. He looks over his shoulder eyes widening.

"Children?" The question whispers past his lips.

There are two.

Girl and boy.

Sister and brother.

They look different, much too small and far too young. Not how they appeared the last time Ivan saw them, but that was so many years ago and memories all mingle together in the end. Smearing until he can no longer tell where one ends and another begins; they're all threads woven into the same tapestry anyhow. Perhaps it no longer matters. Recollections are fickle things really and sometimes best forgotten. But nations never forget, instead they collect. The more they gather the more the memories distort and blend.

The girl's knees are scraped again. The hem of her skirt dances over the brush burns as she sprints. She must have taken another spill; the trees she climbs so fondly do her more harm than good. The boy runs doggedly behind her. Nimble and quick, he races after the little girl, though his legs can not yet keep time with his sister's. The boy needs to be careful; a single tumble could be his end.

Although their little faces are marked with telltale tear tracks, a smile lights Ivan's face. He knows them and they are running to him; to Ivan and Ivan only with watery eyes. Turning, he falls to one knee, opening his arms wide to catch them.

"Children!" He cries joyously.

They fall into his embrace. Their little bodies smell slightly of smoke and are chilled to the bone. Flakes of ice cling to their hair. The frost melts on his cheeks as he presses them close, giving them a brief squeeze before holding them at arm's length. They must have been playing outside. Foolish little ones, they should have worn their coats.

"What is wrong?" Ivan asks, full of cheer. "Why the tears?"

His thumb gently whisks away cold drops from the girl's face. The frozen tears dissolve on his fingertips. Ivan has never seen them like this. All children cry, but this is worrying. These are pranksters. Wilily little devil's he holds. Ivan knows this and secretly adores their mischief, but now the clever glint in their eyes has been replaced by one of sheer terror.

"W-we can't find them," The girl whispers. Swallowing thickly she tries to calm her faltering voice. "…We've been s-separated."

"Can't find who Malenkaya?" The nickname rolls playful off his tongue, hoping to bring a smile to the child's face. It doesn't.

"Everyone!" She cries. The distraught edge in her voice makes Ivan flinch. She should not make such a sound, not a girl such as this.

"They're all gone." The boy adds with a sniffle.

Ivan ruffles the small boy's hair affectionately. The child is icy to the touch, as if he had been caught in the grip of General Winter himself.

"There, there." He rests his large hands on their tiny shoulders. "Hush now."

Ivan rises to his feet, and let's them go for moment. He is a giant; the children are dwarfed by his height. He smiles down at them like he used too. The gesture is genuine. Just like it had been once, but that was a long time ago and his face often forgets how to smile like that nowadays. Ivan holds out his gloved hands for them to take.

"We'll find them, together." He promises. After all, he already knows where the others sleep. It's a secret.

The footfalls are soft.

"Sir?"

And so is the tone.

His smile wilts for a moment. Ivan takes his eyes from the children and looks over his shoulder, finding the owner of the new voice. Toris. Ivan's smile grows again. The smaller nation hugs a clipboard to his chest and wears a curious frown on his face.

"Sir," The young man repeats apprehensively. "Who are you talking to?"

Ivan laughs at him. At the silliness of it all. He really must be working Lithuania too hard. Toris had been under Ivan's care during their father's rein, right? The Baltic ought to recognize them. Besides, it's not as if the children could be mistaken for anyone else.

"Oh, The children!" He says with a chuckle.

The other nation walks toward him silently, stopping by his side. Ivan doesn't like the look the other is giving him. It's all wrong.

"I don't see anyone." Toris admits almost timidly.

Despite his smile Ivan's eyes harden, fixating on the other, searching for lies. How can the young man say such a thing? Ivan gives another vibrant, joking chuckle. Trying to remove the sting the words carry. Toris does not attempt to return the laugh; instead his face remains maddeningly sober. The green hues stare at Ivan's beaming face questioningly. There is fear and something else hidden within those pretty eyes. Can Lithuania not _see_ the little ones?

Confused now, Ivan turns his head back to look tenderly at the children. The one's who have come crying to him. The one's that swell his heart with warmth. The one's his hands are raised for, open and waiting. Ivan's smile wavers, lips trembling before crumbling completely. His eyes dart franticly about.

The hall before him is empty.

The children are gone.

Splayed fingers curl into fists. Hands fall to his side, useless.

"You scared them away." He accuses quietly, staring ahead into vacant passage.

"I'm sorry." Lithuania apologizes. He always does these days. Frequency erases the meaning.

Ivan ignores the faux-regret.

"They came to me…" He whispers, the words faltering and dying on unsmiling lips. He can feel his back bowing, shoulders slumping under an invisible weight that has been far too familiar as of late.

Toris fidgets uncomfortably and takes hold of the Ivan's elbow. His grip is meant to be comforting Ivan supposes, but it feels weak and hesitant. The fingers are too light in their touch; Toris is trying to consol him out of obligation and nothing else.

"I…I could help you look for them, if you want." The smaller nation suggests kindly.

The offer is forced. Ivan can tell. How can the man help find something he never saw to begin with? A bitter laugh bubbles from the Russian's chest, dispersing as soon as it comes. He shakes his head. Toris understands. He usually does. It's the young man's cursed blessing. Lithuanian understands more than he should and often times more than he wants.

Toris gives a small tug on his elbow; it is more of a proposal than a command. No one commands Ivan. Not any more at least. He lets himself be lead away; knowing the other nation will guide him to his chambers. Ivan goes, but not before casting a longing glace down the hallway.

Tap-tap! Tap-tap! Tap-tap!…Tap-tap...tap-tap...tap-tap...tap-tap...

The unseen steps retreat, fleeing into the deeper recesses of the winding house. Gone for now, not forever, but retreating like everyone else. No one is an exception it seems.

Ivan smile returns, but it's crooked. All lopsided. All wrong. "They will come back. Everyone does eventually, yes?"

The other nation doesn't answer. The past's knots cannot be undone. There is nothing to say. Toris only steers him away wordlessly. Ivan allows the gentle hand to escort him, curious violet eyes occasionally glancing back over his shoulder.

Tomorrow, the walk will begin anew. Ivan will wonder through the lonesome halls, knowing now that he is not the only specter residing in the lonesome house. Phantoms of the past skitter after him, dwelling in the uncertain cloud of nostalgia that patterns his life. In this Ivan finds comfort, and so he listens carefully for the airy footfalls of tiny feet that stir in his wake. The past is never far behind and ever so hard to give up.

**---**

Odds and ends:

This story has no beta.

Quote belongs to Jan Glidewell.

Malenkaya – "_Little one_"

In 1991 when the first grave site of the Romanov's was discovered two of the late Tsar's children's bodies were missing. One was Tsarevich Alexei the other was either Grand Duchesse Maria or Grand Duchesse Anastasia. There was much discrepancy between the Russian and American scientists over which daughter was absent. It wasn't until 2007 that the separated bodies were discovered.


End file.
